Long Commence Poems
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The day before yesterday was laced with dismay in every possible way,
Yesterday was better but has into the backdrop faded away.
But today is another day,
New stuff to think, do and say.
Today I will brave the world all alone,
And enjoy my freedom full blown.
I will live life with zest,
Try to do things, never second best.
I will live to be sensitive,
Towards others be more receptive.
I will live to be forgiving,
Be more tolerant and caring.
I will speak to all who walk my path,
Make peace with all and unnecessarily not unleash quaint wrath.
I will correct all my wrongs,
And tell this to all by making them my songs.
I will proudly write notes about the new me,
And publish and upload them for all to see.
I will work to be creative,
And learn to open my mind’s eye and not be obstructive.
I will always proudly wear my own neoteric attitude,
To succeed, master the skill of gratitude.
The day before yesterday was laced with dismay in every possible way,
Yesterday was better but has into the backdrop faded away.
And today is the right day,
To commence these fresh new things that I write and say
March is a time of transition
winter and spring commence their struggle
between moments of ice and mud
a robin appears heralding the inevitable
life stumbling from its slumber
it was in such a period of change in 1905
that the House of Physics
would see its Newtonian axioms
of an ordered universe collapse
into a new frontier
where the divisions of time and space
matter and energy
were to blend as rain and wind
in a storm that broke loose
within the mind of Albert Einstein
where Brownian motion danced
seen and unseen, a random walk
that became his papers marching through science
reshaping the very fabric of the universe
we have come to know
we all share a common ancestor
a star long lost in the eons of memory
and yet in that commonality
nature demands a permutation
a perchance genetic roll of the dice
which births a new vision
lifting us temporarily from the mystery
exposing some of the roots of our existence
only to raise a plethora of more questions
as did the papers of Einstein in 1905
SAN DIEGO 9/05 Philosophy of Science Portal
Tim Ray Poet Colleague
i was working as a "Stringer" for the above blog searching the Internet for articles on physics and philosophy and was asked to write this as part of a celebration of the 100-year mark of Einstein's papers. i do not do requests but i conceded for reasons. my claim to fame herein is a poke at Einstein's statement that God does not play with dice, however, was not he a permutation in the scheme of things? and lest we forget he objected to the Big Bang theory holding onto the Steady State with other scientists because it was too much like Genesis. and lost to Bohr over Quantum Entanglement, settled by John Stewart Bell...but who is counting? and these peccadillos stand in little shadows of those papers in 1905.
“ISN’T IT NICE TO THINK
THAT TOMORROW IS A NEW DAY
WITH NO MISTAKES IN IT YET ?
‘Cause always hope for the best.
So ! Hope for tomorrow better
when life runs rough tough through litter.
Today struggling as lone fighter.
None is around to look after —-
Yet not losing hope,
there’s silver lining in cloud
though often, thunder being loud.
It’s always nice to think for
better tomorrow, when days
will commence to glitter.
Adverse today is sure to alter.
Today sinking in despondency
Yet why not to carry expectancy
for a new day of bright tomorrow !
As Joyous Spring follows morose Winter.
Today’s mistakes I’ll rectify,
to welcome New Tomorrow
dancing delight.
Today I fight —
New Tomorrow will be bright.
In the dark depths of ancient lands,
where shadows whisper secrets to the night,
lies a tale of a region forged by mystic hands,
a pure product marked by "justice and fraternity."
From the dawn of the shining royal reign,
over the grand and majestic Tartar halls,
no soul from outside the system's chain
has ever stepped foot on this enchanted land.
Masonry breathes through the Monarch's sigh,
a subtle wind guiding those who were brought,
masons, the sculptors of masses, standing nigh,
keeping the throng low, their past forever fraught.
Though the monarchy's crown does not adorn its brow,
Romania reigns as an unseen monarch,
a scent of power lingering, somehow,
in corners unthought by the common.
And so I ponder, in this twilight's gleam,
what is patriotism in a masonic design,
where lodges commence with a national dream,
"Awaken, Romanian," a call so divine?
For patriotism, ancient and true,
a homeland is needed, a soil to defend,
as Tudor Vladimirescu's words ensue,
"The homeland's the people, not the thieves who pretend."
Thus the patriot tends to the crowd, the masses,
but can also be a thief, unseen in the light,
he's not of the people, but one who surpasses,
plugged to public wealth, in shadowy might.
All began as patriots, a noble disguise:
PNL, USR, AUR, FSN-PDSR, PNT-cd, UDMR,
each claimed to cherish the people's cries,
yet none brought the dawn, leaving dreams to despair.
Patriotism, a starter pack for ambition's plight,
one cannot skip the stage of care,
building roads and bridges, shining bright,
born to bring a throne to the masses' lair.
Some proclaimed to live for your joy,
a promise never met in the valley of tears,
Romanioka, where sorrows deploy,
since the great bring-in of 1800's years.
Remember, rat, in your endless quest,
all lands are ruled by the Monarch's hand,
through satanists, his dark behest,
but in "Romania," the worst of them stand.
Patriotism, the greatest faith's replace,
as chronic poverty, "traditional" named,
in this land where shadows embrace,
and dreams of betterment are forever tamed.
And where the friends
Who look me squarely in the eye
Those fangled with new recessions
And past regressions
Do they recall like I
Do they insist on knowing more
To remember less
To wither from former glory
An aside to which
They subconsciously yearn from
Do they value what I
With its sordid aspirations
And intractable dedication
To lift up the ruins
For savory toasts and roasts
For shaking the vessels of memory
Too often coagulated and tarnished
By formidable scar tissue
To face the game in progress
Where art thou
Those providing hints and pieces
To my aggregate
The life infected goes on
Yet never knowing how the incubator
And its pesky conclusion came to rest
No matter
We shall see and sing again, friends
For you are what made my day
Which keeps the light burning
Throughout the fortnights
And commence we will to places
Only visible to our hearty sense
Of blurry facts and legends
That exist forever.
(10/27/07)
He took his morning seat
to hear the Sage's sonnet,
"On Punishment":
"The people are not afraid of death;
Why threaten them with death?
Supposing that the people are afraid of death,
and we can seize and kill the unruly,
Who would dare to do so?
Often it happens that the executioner is killed.
and to take the place of the executioner
Is like handling the hatchet for the master carpenter.
He who handles the hatchet for the master carpenter
Seldom escapes injury to his hands."
("The Wisdom of Laotse", Lin Yutang (ed.), 1948, Modern Library, p. 300)
He drifted off and on and in and out
as gathering dusk redreamed:
Enlightening people are not afraid of losing time;
Why threaten them with loss?
Supposing they learn fear of untimely death,
And would seize and kill unruly incarnations,
Who would be wise enough to do so?
Often it happens that prophets are killed
to take the place of omniscient justice.
Redemption of another's investment
is like handling the wu-wei hatchet for the master carpenter,
He who handles the master carpenter's tipping points
adjusting health discernment and balancing design
Seldom escapes injury to crucified hands.
Jesus was a master carpenter?
Teaching wu-wei design
and fishermanic skills
in a school of fishy men.
His health-optimizing teaching was redemptively mentored,
as is ours,
graduating from dominating executioners of time's incarnate investments,
to commence mutual-mentoring global cooperative design.
We retake each mind's messianic seat
for speaking universal salvation,
each body's bodhisattva meat
to co-invest love's warm redemption.
(Critter's of Chaos)
Upon a realm where artificial lights flicker and fade,
Unbeknownst to denizens, an eldritch evil's laid.
Upon a realm where artificial lights flicker and fade,
Alien eggs nest in shadows cast by tower high,
Harboring secrets that soon will multiply.
With shells that splinter and release their putrid freight,
Nightmarish entities emerge, ready for the fray.
Critters of chaos, fueled by hunger's relentless fire,
Seek to consume all in their path, as if possessed by choir.
Our hapless heroes, cornered, faces pale with dread,
Confront a horde of beasties, their intentions clear ahead.
Yet ere the slaughter commence without reprieve,
An figure cloaked emerges, from doorway hidden.
"Away, ye vile spawn," quoth stranger, voice imbued
With ancient power, as device in hand glowed, infused.
And with a blast of energy pure and bright,
The mysterious savior engaged the Critters in flight!
Beasts recoiled and screamed as holy beams struck true,
Shriveling back to eggs, their evil undone knew.
Critter's abandoned few!
Be it evidence consequence or coincidence
Every night as I succumb to somnolence
Heavenly smoke rings of frankincense
Rise upwards with sweet opulence
Dulcet dreams inevitably commence
Without fanfare hype or pretense
While sweet loving arms of providence
Wrap around me a shroud of benevolence
Under a scented canopy of impermanence
Ablaze with the aura of glowing confidence
Revealing universal secrets of magnificence
I humbly bow in unpretentious reverence
Adrift in solitude so many nights hence
I reminisce of nostalgia in the past tense
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on June 6, 2019 for contest YOUR CHOICE (3) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - HONORABLE MENTION
Oh NO….it’s here
Hope springing eternal
Bringing with it
The plague of pollen
That nose drip
Even a plumber can’t fix
Oh, and MUD…
AND PUDDLES
AND WET DOGS
And those spinny things
Fluttering everywhere
And the birds
Oh those birds, birds, birds, birds, birds
The neverendingchatter
Of those birds, birds, birds, birds, birds
That chitter chatter squawking
The beady eyes a-gawking
Of those birds,
A tree and wire choir
Chirping lower and then higher
Swaying gently in the breeze
The same one that makes me sneeze
Oh spring
When I am inside I adore you
But when outside I deplore you
But you must do your duty
Shake your pollen coated booty
Tempt the bees in invitation
To commence with pollination
Should darkness stain the shields of my defense
where refuge sought holds little glare or shine,
depression takes its toll at great expense
that sadly taints this fragile soul of mine.
The fortress walls grow weak amidst the storm,
should darkness stain the shields of my defense.
The siege consumes me whole might I conform.
Such penalties fall savagely immense.
Surrender could abandon this suspense,
to open wide the gates that welcome woe.
Should darkness stains the shields of my defense,
so common are the scars I've come to know.
Armed only with the strength of battles lost,
survival rears its head as wars commence.
I choose to hold my throne at any cost,
should darkness stain the shields of my defense.